


when it comes to a lover

by tintedglasses



Series: Take Your Winterhawk to Work Day AU [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bucky Barnes' thighs, Bucky has a prosthetic arm, Deaf Clint Barton, Developing Relationship, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, also everyone is a little anxious, basically just them figuring stuff out, not major but some mention of symptoms, sex with a disability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 10:41:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19061005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tintedglasses/pseuds/tintedglasses
Summary: He likes knowing that they don’t have to rush this. It doesn’t feel like they are heading towards an end date, but more like they are building something sustainable. Something that, with the right care, could grow and grow and grow. Clint’s never really had something like that before and he’s not sure if he ever really thought he would.And for a moment, Clint thinks that maybe it’s too early to think about this like that, but then the episode is over and Bucky is propping his chin on Clint’s chest, his grin soft and shy, and Clint thinks that he’s got it about right.Or, the third date fic.





	when it comes to a lover

**Author's Note:**

> It's probably not super necessary to read the other parts of the series as long as you know that Bucky is a wounded war vet with a prosthetic arm who attends group therapy, as that's referenced quite a few times. Also, I forgot to mention this before, but I know that Bucky's metal arm is his left arm, but I made his prosthesis be the right arm in the first fic for plot reasons, so that's why it's backwards here. I also tried to do as much research as I could about prosthetic arms, but if something looks wrong, please let me know!
> 
> Thank you to the Bad Decisions Buddies discord sprinters for your encouragement as I wrote this! It is unbeta'd, so bear with me :)
> 
> Title is from "ME!" by Taylor Swift.

It’s only their third date, but Clint’s starting to see a bit of a pattern in that they seem to keep ending their nights on the couch together. 

This time, Clint is on his back, Bucky half-lying on top of him with his head on Clint’s chest. When Clint looks down at him, he can see his head move in sync with Clint’s heartbeat. He reaches a hand to run it through Bucky’s hair and Bucky looks up at him to smile, then looks back at the tv. 

This is typical, too. Clint has found out quite quickly that Bucky does not like kissing during shows he’s never seen before because he doesn’t want to miss anything. Although, this means that he is missing Clint’s lips and, by extension, Clint is missing his, which Clint thinks are both things that should not be missed any more than a plot in a show.

Clint doesn’t really mind, though. He likes the flutter of anticipation and having to wait for gratification, forced into a patience that only serves to make the reward even better, a gentle wave that slowly crests and crests until crashing when Bucky is ready.

They haven’t gone very far together yet, just making out on the couch, but Clint likes that, too. He likes knowing that they don’t have to rush this. It doesn’t feel like they are heading towards an end date, but more like they are building something sustainable. Something that, with the right care, could grow and grow and grow. Clint’s never really had something like that before and he’s not sure if he ever really thought he would.

And for a moment, Clint thinks that maybe it’s too early to think about this like that, but then the episode is over and Bucky is propping his chin on Clint’s chest, his grin soft and shy, and Clint thinks that he’s got it about right.

“Hi,” Bucky whispers in the now-quiet of the room and Clint sees it on Bucky’s lips more than he actually hears it. 

“Hi,” Clint whispers back, the hand in Bucky’s hair moving to cup the side of his face. “You want to come up here?”

Bucky swallows, his face bobbing slightly in Clint’s grip. “Yeah.”

He uses his feet to wiggle his way up Clint’s body, the friction pushing Clint’s shirt up a bit, the air of the room cool against his bare skin. Bucky plants his left hand on the cushion next to Clint’s head to hold himself up, grimacing a little as his right arm knocks against Clint’s chest as he tries to maneuver it to the other side of Clint’s body. 

“Sorry,” he says, his voice quiet. “It’s a little awkward.”

“I like awkward,” Clint says. He leans up once Bucky’s face is in reach, propping himself on his elbows, and kisses a diagonal line up from Bucky’s chin to the corner of his mouth. He kisses the other corner of his mouth and then pulls back slightly. “How was your show?” he asks, dodging Bucky when he tries to chase Clint’s lips.

“Do you really want to talk about that right now?” Bucky huffs out a laugh. 

“Dunno. You seemed pretty into it.” Clint strokes a thumb against his cheekbone because he’s wanted to do that ever since he saw Bucky’s face for the first time. It’s a good cheekbone. “We could watch another episode if you want.”

“Shut up,” Bucky laughs, lightly kicking at Clint’s shin. Clint feels himself grinning back. “I told you I hadn’t seen that episode, so you can’t blame me for not letting you distract me. You know how I am about that.”

And Clint is reminded again that he does know that now. It’s part of the constellation of little things that are just beginning to come into view about Bucky, like staring at the night sky back at the farm in Iowa, stars slowly bursting through the darkness as his eyes adjust. 

“But now I want to kiss you,” Bucky says. “Since you waited so patiently.”

“Okay,” Clint says and then moves forward to finally kiss Bucky square on the mouth. 

It’s slow at first—small, stuttering kisses that last a few seconds at a time. It’s been tentative like this at first, a reintroduction each time, not quite synchronized yet but getting there. But then Bucky licks at Clint’s lips and exhales when Clint opens his mouth to let Bucky’s tongue in, his hand moving back up to Bucky’s hair, and they melt into a rhythm.

Clint’s neck starts to hurt after a few minutes of straining up to meet Bucky, so he shifts until his head is resting back on the cushion again, gently guiding Bucky’s head down with him, keeping their lips connected. Bucky adjusts so he is laying half on Clint and half on the couch, no longer propped up on his left arm. 

He breaks away from Clint’s lips to mouth at his jaw, his breath stuttered. Clint tips his head back and groans at the tiny points of suction that Bucky keeps trailing along the bone.

Clint is distracted, so he barely notices as Bucky trails his left hand down to rest on Clint’s side. He does, however, notice when Bucky’s fingertips start making their way across Clint’s exposed stomach, creeping up under his shirt. 

He notices this partly because they’ve never gone under the clothes before, but mainly because Bucky’s fingers are skittering across his skin, trembling slightly, and Clint recognizes that his breathing pattern is starting to lean less towards kiss-stuttery and more towards anxiety-stuttery.

Clint pulls back slowly, moving to press his hand against Bucky’s hand, stopping its path to Clint’s chest. With the hand immobilized, Clint can definitely feel the trembling. 

“Was that...was that not okay?” Bucky asks, his voice quiet and his eyes wide, nervous. “Sorry, I should have asked.”

“No,” Clint says. “It’s okay. It’s just...your hand is shaking, Buck.”

Bucky glares down at his hand as if it’s betrayed him. “I’m okay. I’m nervous, that’s all. I’ve been thinking about tonight all day.”

Clint is momentarily confused because he doesn’t really know what Bucky’s getting at before a memory clicks in his head— _you can booty call me after the third date_. Oh. “You know we don’t actually have to do anything, right?” he asks, because he’s not sure what Bucky thinks Clint expects from him, but he doesn’t ever want Bucky to feel anxious enough about it that he’s shaking. “I was just joking about the third date thing. I know that’s just a thing that, like, Cosmo or whatever made up. I like what we’ve been doing.”

“No, I know,” Bucky says a little too quickly, but he sounds honest, which makes something in Clint’s chest loosen a little. 

“Good. Because I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I do want to,” Bucky says, leaning back in to kiss Clint, a firm pressure that gradually fades until he’s pulling away again. “I just haven’t...I haven’t really done this since I got back.”

 _Oh._ Clint hadn’t known that before and it makes him want to be especially careful with Bucky, if Bucky is willing to trust him like this. “Well, I’m up for whatever you want. No pressure. And it’s okay if you’re nervous. I’m a little nervous, too.”

“You’re nervous? Why?” Bucky asks, tilting his head in confusion. It’s very adorable.

“Uh, because you’re probably the hottest guy I’ve ever been with.”

Bucky ducks his head, but not before Clint sees a smile take over his face. “Dork.”

“I’m serious,” Clint laughs. “It’s a lot of pressure.”

Bucky looks back up at him, his smile fading into something softer. “No pressure. I’m just a normal guy. Besides, I’m not even as in shape as I used to be.”

Clint scoffs, “What’d you drop from an eight-pack to a six-pack?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Bucky laughs and Clint can’t resist the urge to kiss the tip of his nose, feeling it scrunch as a reflex. Which, again, is frankly too fucking adorable.

Bucky’s laughter dies down and his face sobers a little, some of the nerves peeking back through. “So, do you, uh. Do you want to maybe go to your room?”

It’s not the smoothest invitation Clint’s ever received, but he lets his smile go a little lopsided, the way he thinks Bucky likes. “And get the hottest guy ever in my bed? Uh, yeah.”

It makes Bucky laugh like Clint knew it would, breaking up some of the tension that was cropping up around Bucky’s eyes again. 

“Only if you’re up for it, though,” Clint adds, willing to follow Bucky’s lead here. “I’m cool with whatever.”

“I think it’d be easier. I’m basically falling off the edge and I don’t think I can hold myself up with one arm much longer.”

Oh, shit. Clint didn’t even think about that. “Yeah, of course.” He pats Bucky’s bicep, and, god, what a firm, beautiful bicep it is. “Up you get, then.”

Bucky clamors off of Clint and waits for him to stand. 

When Clint gets up, his shirt is still stuck halfway up his chest from Bucky’s hand. He goes to pull it back down, but Bucky interrupts him before he can. 

“You can take that off.”

Clint looks over at him, his hand still on the hem. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

“Yeah. Yup. Go ahead.” Bucky’s blushing, his eyes darting down to the strip of Clint’s stomach that’s exposed.

Clint really hates wearing shirts, so he definitely doesn’t need to be told twice. He peels the shirt over his head and drops it on the ground, noticing the way that Bucky’s eyes take in his newly exposed skin, but not commenting on it. Reaching out to grab Bucky’s hand, he leads them towards his room.

“It’s a little messy. Didn’t know we were gonna end up in there.”

Bucky laughs, rubbing his thumb against the back of Clint’s hand. “Would you have picked up if you did?”

Clint shrugs, “Eh, probably not.”

He opens the door to his room and drops Bucky’s hand, going over to the bed to start pushing clothes to the floor. Once it’s clear, he hops up onto the bed, laying on his side with his head propped up on his hand.

Bucky’s standing in the middle of the room looking at Clint and his bed, his left hand rubbing at his right arm, just above where the prosthesis begins. He looks a little lost in his head. 

“Hey, you alright?” Clint asks, not sure what’s got him in this headspace. “We can go back out to the living room if you want.” 

Bucky shakes his head a little, taking a few short steps towards the bed. “No, it’s just. I realized that I need to set a boundary.”

Clint recognizes the therapy talk and he wonders idly if Bucky brought this up in group specifically or if he’s just learned it along the way. 

“Okay,” Clint nods, hoping it looks encouraging. “I have a boundary, too.”

Bucky’s eyebrow quirks up, his shoulders relaxing. The relief is palpable in his voice, as he asks, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Clint replies, hoping his voice sounds easy. “Of course.”

Bucky takes a few steps over and sits on the edge of the bed, turning a bit so he can face Clint. “Okay. My boundary is that I don’t want you to be on top of me or for you to hold me down or anything like that. And I know that it’d be easier for you to be on top because my arm can’t hold my weight for that long,” he swallows like he’s trying to unstick the words in his throat, “but I—I don’t—”

“Hey, you don’t have to explain yourself. You can just say what you need and I’ll do it. No questions asked.”

Bucky gives him a small but grateful smile. “Okay. So, yeah, if we could not do that.”

Clint hasn’t heard the whole story about Bucky’s Humvee accident, but he can guess that Bucky must have been pinned or trapped in some way when it exploded, unable to free himself; it’s not a feeling that Clint would ever want to make him revisit.

“Alright,” Clint nods. “We won’t do that.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says. He turns to face Clint more fully. “What’s your boundary?”

Clint tries not to rethink of the memories that led to him having to set this particular boundary, but they crawl up anyways, his stomach feeling shallow. He can hear that his voice is flatter than normal when he says, “You can’t hit me, in any way. Not even a smack on the ass.”

Bucky’s eyes are wide, and Clint can see the questions spinning behind them, but he thankfully doesn’t ask. “Okay. I don’t want to hit you, anyways, so that works out.

“I know other people do that kind of stuff and are into it and that’s okay for them. I can’t, though.”

Clint can see some of the wheels clicking into place in Bucky’s head, but Bucky thankfully doesn’t comment on that. Instead, he says, “No questions asked, right? I can definitely do that. Or not do that, rather. I don’t want to hit you anyways, so that works out.”

“Okay,” Clint nods, taking a deep breath and pushing anyway any residual memories. “Any other boundaries?”

Bucky shakes his head but then pauses. “Well, um, I don’t really know how to do this, I guess. With the prosthesis, I mean.”

He’s rubbing at his bicep again and Clint can see little bits of shame creeping into this expression. 

“What would do you think would be best?” Clint asks, trying to keep his voice comforting.

Bucky looks up at him, his ears red. “It might get in the way if I keep it on, so I was thinking it might be easier to take it off? Or at least, that’s what the other people in my group said. But I totally get it if you want me to keep it on. I know the stump can be a little weird.”

Clint sits up, scooting across the bed to sit next to Bucky so that he can put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Hey, I like you, okay? All of you. Nothing about you is going to weird me out. I just want you to be comfortable. And if that means keeping the prosthesis on, we can figure out ways to make it easier. But if you think it’d be easier not to wear it, then we can definitely do that.”

Bucky studies his face and Clint tries to make sure it conveys what he’s feeling.

After a moment, Bucky nods to himself. “I think I’d like to take it off then.”

“Okay.”

His prosthesis is skin-colored and stiff—a cosmetic prosthesis, Bucky had explained, meant to look more lifelike. It’s not the only prosthesis that he has; he also has a silver bionic one which allows him to bend his fingers and honestly, looks pretty fucking sick. Bucky has shown him a picture of it but has yet to wear it around Clint.

Bucky reaches up to grasp the back of his long sleeve henley, shooting a quick sideways glance at Clint. Clint looks away to grant him some privacy as he takes the shirt off. Clint hears as he takes the prosthesis off, too, and sets it on the ground. He doesn’t look at Bucky, but he hears his shaky sigh.

“You okay?” he asks.

Bucky breathes out again. “You can look. If you want.”

Clint looks at Bucky’s face first, cupping it in his hands and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Bucky reciprocates, bringing his left hand up to grip Clint’s shoulder. 

Once Bucky’s a little more relaxed, Clint breaks away. “Better?”

“Yeah,” Bucky swallows harshly. His movements are still a bit jerky. Clint keeps looking at his face for a few moments, and then leans in to kiss Bucky’s cheek, moving his way down towards Bucky’s jaw, so he feels it when Bucky’s jaw tenses. He pulls back in time to see Bucky’s eyes shutter, his face closing off. “You know what, I’ll put my shirt back on.”

Clint’s confused. “Hey, whoa. What’s going on?”

“You haven’t looked yet. I’m just making it so you don’t have to.”

Clint’s such an idiot. He was trying to make Bucky comfortable and not make a big deal of looking, but he’s only made it worse. Shit. “I’m sorry, I was just trying to make sure you were okay. I know this is a big thing for you and I wanted to respect that. But, here,” Clint makes a point of looking down at Bucky’s arm, not letting himself get distracted (because holy shit, abs). “I’m looking now.”

Bucky’s arm goes below the elbow a little, rounding off at the end, the skin a light purple. It’s pretty much like what Clint expected it to look like after his late night googling after their first date. He doesn’t really know what he’s supposed to be doing with his face or how long he’s supposed to look, but he tries for a neutral expression and looks until he sees the tension mounting in Bucky’s shoulders. Aw, shit.

He looks at Bucky’s face and he can map the tension there, too, even though it isn’t as obvious. He sees it in the flatness of his mouth, the lack of crinkles by his eyes. Clint knows Bucky’s face by now and he knows how expressive he can be. He knows that Bucky’s face is only ever this blank when he’s working hard to hide how he’s really feeling.

Clint thinks, though, that if he looks hard enough, he can see a tiny bit of hurt in his eyes and it makes his heart squeeze in his chest. 

“I’m fucking this up, aren’t I?” Clint sighs, feeling defeated. 

Bucky’s face softens minutely, a little more hurt seeping in through the cracks. “It’s fine,” he says. “I get it. It’s weird.”

“I’m sorry,” Clint says. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I just… I don’t want to, like, offend you or hurt you, but I keep doing it anyway.” Clint takes a deep breath. “So, I guess I’ll just say what I feel and hope it’s okay.”

Bucky swallows hard and Clint wants so badly to reach out to touch him, but he doesn’t if it’s welcome.

_Don’t fuck this up, Barton._

“I like you, okay? Probably a lot, but it’s too early to say that so we’ll pretend I didn’t.” Bucky gives Clint a small smile at that and the vice grip around Clint’s heart eases slightly. “And when I think of you having a residual limb, it’s not any different than how I think about how you have, like, brown hair or blue eyes or really fucking great abs.” Bucky’s eyes widen a little at that, but Clint keeps going. “So, your arm isn’t important to me. Or, well, it’s important because it obviously matters to you and I care about that, but it’s not like what I think about when I think about you.”

Bucky’s forehead creases and he still looks a little skeptical. 

Clint tries a different tactic. “Do my shitty ears bother you?” 

Bucky shakes his head, his face losing its last shreds of blankness and his forehead creasing. “No, of course not.”

Even though Clint knew that was going to be his answer, he still feels the relief at how plainly Bucky is able to say it, like it’s obvious. “Okay, so then if my ears don’t have to be a big thing, your arm doesn’t have to be a big thing. We can just be Bucky and Clint, as is.”

Bucky mulls that over for a minute and then nods slowly. “Okay. I can try that.”

“I know that it takes time to, like, feel secure and shit,” Clint says, not wanting to downplay how difficult this probably is for Bucky. “I just want you to know that I’m never looking at you any differently because of it.”

Bucky looks down at his feet. “Thanks.”

“Of course.”

Clint gives Bucky time to process. Eventually, Bucky looks back up, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a gentle smirk, and Clint recognizes that Bucky’s subtle confidence is back. He seems to slip back into that version of himself easier and easier as they go along, and Clint loves it. “Residual limb, huh? That was a big phrase.”

Clint’s face feels hot. “Sorry, was that okay to say? I kept seeing it while I was googling and it seemed like a good term.” Bucky is staring at him. “But I don’t have to use it if you don’t like it!”

“No, no, that’s fine,” Bucky assures him. “It’s just...you were googling about it?”

Clint doesn’t know what the right answer is here. “Yeah, I just wanted to know more. I’m sorry if that was invasive or weird or whatever. I just didn’t want to make you have to talk about it if you didn’t want to.”

Bucky leans in and kisses him. Clint is startled at first, not understanding where that came from, but he goes with it. Bucky pulls back, “I really appreciate that. I didn’t expect you to do that, but it’s really nice.”

“Oh,” Clint says, still feeling a little dazed from the sudden kiss. “Well, you know, I just want to try to get this right.”

“Thank you for that. It means a lot,” Bucky says, leaning in to kiss Clint again. “Now, I think I’ve had enough talking for the day and I’d really like to make out with you now.”

Clint nods, feeling his cheeks start to flush at the thought. “Yeah, that would be good. How do you want to do this?”

Bucky thinks for a moment. “Can you sit back against the wall?”

Clint moves on the bed until he’s sitting up, his back propped against the pillows on his bed that are resting against the wall. “Like this?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, as he climbs onto the bed. He knee-walks over to Clint until he’s straddling him, sitting back to rest in the space between Clint’s legs. Like this, his eyes are level with Clint’s.

And Clint remembers that when he saw Bucky for the first time, he wanted to sit in Bucky’s lap, but maybe he should have been considering this instead because damn if this doesn’t put Bucky’s thighs _right_ on display.

He’s been thinking about those thighs since Bucky came into his office two weeks ago, Bucky’s skin-tight jeans wrapped firmly around them. His jeans today are looser, but the way he’s straddling Clint pulls them tight so that Clint can see every ripple of muscle when he shifts. God, Clint embarrassingly already feels a little warm and they haven’t even really started anything.

“You okay?” Bucky asks, which makes Clint notice that he’s been quiet for too long. 

He looks up at Bucky’s face—shit, how long has he been staring at his thighs? “Yeah, m’fine.”

Bucky gives him a smirk and it’s borderline filthy, his confidence clearly back in full force now. “You can touch them if you want.”

Clint’s hands shoot to Bucky’s thighs embarrassingly fast, making Bucky laugh. “Shut up,” Clint says. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to get a hand on these.”

“We haven’t even known each other that long,” Bucky says, leaning in to rest his forehead against Clint’s, planting his hand on the wall for balance. 

Clint takes the opportunity to capture Bucky’s lips with his, running his hands up Bucky’s thighs slowly. He can’t believe this is his life. He pulls back, “Every second that we’ve known each other, I’ve thought about your thighs.”

“Hmm, guess it’s your lucky day today, then.” 

Bucky presses his lips against Clint’s more firmly, ending any attempts that Clint might have had at a response—not that he did have any, because he’s pretty sure his brain is melting a little bit. 

Their lips are dry at first, catching on each other each time they adjust angles, but as they keep kissing, the slide of it gets easier. Before long, Clint’s gasping, and he can feel himself getting hard. Bucky shifts, pulling away slightly, and Clint lets out a little whine. He’d be embarrassed by it, but he’s too turned on to care.

“Where you goin’?” he whines, digging his fingertips into the meat of Bucky’s thighs. 

Bucky sits back so that he isn’t using his hand for balance anymore. He hovers it over Clint’s chest, right at the top of his abs. He looks up at Clint and quirks an eyebrow. “Is this okay?”

“Fuck yeah,” Clint breathes out. He needs Bucky’s hand on him, like, yesterday. 

Clint shivers when Bucky’s fingertips lightly brush against his skin, feather-light. Bucky pauses for a second, looking to Clint for the okay. “S’good. Just tickles.”

Bucky laughs gently before pressing his palm flat against Clint’s abdomen. He slides it up, softly thumbing at Clint’s nipple at first before circling it more firmly, and Clint’s head tilts back by instinct as he groans. Bucky leans forward to nip at Clint’s jaw, the quick spark of pain making Clint’s dick twitch. He guesses Bucky can feel it, based on the way he grinds down against him. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” Clint breathes, as Bucky works his way down Clint’s jawline, meandering to his throat and planting little bites along the way. “Oh my god.”

Bucky overbalances a little too far and has to press against Clint’s chest to keep himself upright, so Clint moves his hands to grip Bucky’s hips, holding him steady as he leans forward. Bucky tries to rest his right elbow against the wall, but it slides too much to help him balance.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers to Bucky. From where his forearms rest against Bucky’s thighs, he can feel the pure power in his muscles and, god damn, that’s sexy.

Bucky brings his right arm down again and lets Clint support his weight. He's worked his way back to Clint's ear now, kissing carefully around his aid, a moment of tenderness that somehow makes Clint feel even more turned on than before. After a final kiss to his tragus, he moves back to Clint’s lips, recapturing them in a hot slide. He kisses with a single-minded focus, like it’s his favorite thing in the world, and it’d be overwhelming if Clint wasn’t so into it, too.

But, eventually, Clint has to break away for air. “Thought you said you hadn’t done this in a while,” he pants.

Bucky smirks at him. “Yeah, but I never said I wasn’t good at it.”

‘Good’ is a definite understatement. Clint can’t remember the last time he was this hard just from making out. 

He tilts his head up to kiss Bucky again, slower and deeper this time, settling them into a rhythm that makes his spine go liquid. 

Bucky’s hand trails down Clint’s front until he reaches the top of Clint’s jeans. He rests his forehead against Clint’s. “Can I touch you?” he asks and Clint can feel the words against his lips.

Clint nods, because _yes, yes, yes, of course he can_ , the slight sheen of sweat making their foreheads slide against each other. “Yeah. Please.”

“Polite.” Bucky winks at him and Clint can feel a flush works it’s way down to his collarbones.

It takes a few times, but Bucky manages to get Clint’s button undone one-handed. He can’t quite manage the zipper, though.“Can you—?”

Clint reaches down the grasp his waistband, pulling it firm before Bucky has to finish the question. The tension makes it easier for the zipper to slide and Bucky gives Clint a small smile as he tugs it down. “Thanks.”

“Do you want me to just—“ Clint motions to his pants.

“Yeah.” Bucky shifts up higher on his knees, giving Clint space to push his jeans and his underwear down to mid-thigh.

He sits back down, his weight resting unintentionally on the pants and trapping Clint’s legs so that they can barely move. Being pinned down might not be Bucky’s thing, but it’s kind of doing it for Clint right now.

Before he can think about that too much—although, it’s something they should _definitely_ revisit, if Bucky’s up for it—Bucky is looking at him, his gaze on Clint’s newly exposed skin making it tingle in anticipation. Bucky trails his hand down Clint’s abs and around to the vulnerable spot where his thigh meets his hip, rubbing his thumb in the crease. The sensation goes directly to Clint’s dick. 

“Do you have any lube?” Bucky asks.

It takes Clint a second to work through the haze in his brain in order to answer. “Yeah, in the drawer.”

Bucky leans over to grab it and Clint resumes his grip on his waist so he doesn’t fall. It’s probably not even necessary based on the way he can feel the muscles in Bucky’s core and thighs engage, but he likes the excuse to touch Bucky anyways.

Bucky finds the lube pretty quickly for how messy Clint knows the drawer is. He sits back and flips the top of the bottle open with his teeth, wordlessly handing it to Clint. Clint pours it into Bucky’s outstretched hand and flips the top back shut, earning himself a kiss.

Clint thinks that it was meant to be a brief kiss, but in what seems to be typical fashion, they get a little too wrapped up in it. That is, until Bucky puts his hand on Clint’s side, accidentally smearing lube on him, and Clint pulls back with a grimace.

“Ugh, that felt gross.”

“Sorry,” Bucky laughs, trying to wipe some of it off with his pinky.

Clint shakes his head. “You’re good. You know what, you’re so hot I don’t even care. Just smear lube all over my stomach.”

“As appealing as that is, I think I’d rather do this.” Bucky grasps Clint’s cock in his hand, covering it with the lube. Clint’s hip jerk up at the unexpected contact and he groans.

“Yeah?” Bucky says, tightening his grip to give Clint a firm, slow stroke. He rubs just under the crown of the head on the upstroke and Clint squeezes his eyes shut.

“Yeah,” he says, panting. “Much better use for the lube.”

Bucky sets a more languid pace than Clint typically prefers, seeming to enjoy taking his time. Clint knows that he’s going to need something a little faster in order to get off, but he likes this, too. Likes that it won’t be over so soon this way, so he can savor it.

Bucky maintains a firm grip with each pull, but he alternates between rubbing that same spot under the crown or twisting his wrist on the upstrokes or rubbing his palm over the head. The unpredictability of it is driving Clint crazy, but he can’t do anything about it. Eventually, the slow speed starts to border on overwhelming, but he can’t speed things up himself because his legs are too trapped to be able to work up a good momentum for his hips. 

“Faster?” he asks, pulling Bucky’s attention up from where he was watching his hand work Clint over.

He tilts his head, looking at Clint through hooded eyes. “What do you say?”

“Fuck,” Clint groans, his head thumping against the wall. “Please. Faster, please.”

Bucky leans into quickly suck at the corner of Clint’s jaw before leaning back to regain his balance. “Right answer.”

If Clint thought the past speed was overwhelming, this is basically unbearable. His hips are twitching constantly, torn between wanting to drive up into the sensation and to get away from it. It’s maddening, but it doesn’t last long. Bucky movements start to slow down, his rhythm getting less smooth.

“Sorry,” he says, grimacing as he shuffles his knees to get a more sturdy stance, thrown off balance from the motion of his arm. “My hand’s getting tired. I can’t keep up the grip.”

“Here,” Clint pants, the muscles in his abs still jumping from how close he was to coming. “Maybe—“

Clint reaches down and tries to wrap his hand around Bucky’s but the angle isn’t quite right. “Nope. Fuck, lay down.”

“How?” Bucky asks, already scooting back so he can move off of Clint’s legs. Clint’s sad to see the thighs go.

“Sides? Me in front?” Clint says, finally starting to catch his breath again. He’s still hard, but it feels a little less urgent now—less urgent than making sure that Bucky’s comfortable.

“Yeah, might work. Just have to be my right side,” Bucky says. 

“Sure,” Clint says, as he reaches down to his pants. “Mind if I take these off?”

“I’d prefer if you did,” Bucky says, his eyes tracing Clint’s movements.

Clint shimmies them off, kicking them down towards the end of the bed. Bucky raises an eyebrow at Clint with a hand on his own fly, waiting for Clint’s nod before taking off his jeans, too, leaving his underwear on. Aw, thighs, _yes_.

Once Bucky drops his jeans on the floor, he nudges Clint over on his side, smearing a little more lube on his hip. It’s fine, they can wash it off later.

He’s shorter than Clint, but when he presses his chest against Clint, he feels all-encompassing, his broad chest blanketing Clint’s back. He reaches his hand around to grasp Clint’s length again and Clint’s hips punch forward into the contact, his dick happy to have a hand on it again, still really close to the edge from Bucky’s earlier efforts.

He wraps his hand around Bucky’s and the angle is definitely better this way, more similar to how it is when he jerks himself off.

Squeezing Bucky’s hand until their grip is just on the right side of too firm, he settles them into a quick rhythm. He lets Bucky decide when to rotate their hands, the surprise of it tipping him closer and closer each time.

“You feel so good, sweetheart,” Bucky says, his breath hot against the back of Clint’s neck, and Clint feels like he’s going to vibrate right out of his skin. “Fuck, you’re so good.”

Clint can’t stop the small grunts that keep spilling out of his mouth, the heat at the base of his spine multiplying and expanding until he’s sure he’s going to burst right out of his skin, his hips fucking up into the hot heat of Bucky’s hand.

Just as he thinks that he isn’t going to last much longer, Bucky presses a kiss right where his shoulder meets his neck and then bites down _hard_ , catapulting Clint right over the edge, his eyes slamming shut. He groans loudly as he starts to come, his hand falling away from Bucky’s. Bucky keeps going, coaxing every last bit of his orgasm out of him until Clint is whining at the sensation. He wipes Clint’s come against Clint’s chest, which he should probably find gross, but he’s too blissed out to care. Besides, it’s not like he hasn’t done the same thing to himself before.

He feels like he’s floating while he tries to get his breath back, his muscles going slack. Shit, that’s the hottest hand job he’s probably ever had. He didn’t think hand jobs were even supposed to be that hot before now.

It takes him a few minutes to come back to his body, but when Clint opens his eyes, Bucky is still behind him, pressing kisses to his spine. Clint rocks back against him lazily, “You can just...go ahead.”

Instead of grinding forward as Clint expects, Bucky tilts his hips away. “No, um. I’m fine.”

Alarm bells go off in Clint’s head and he turns around so he can look at Bucky. And, fuck, he isn’t even a little bit hard and it doesn’t look like he already came.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Clint blurts out, staring at Bucky’s chest so that he doesn’t have to look him in the eyes as he tries to wrap his head around where he went wrong. “Were you not into that? Or did I take long? Shit, I wasn’t even paying attention to you.” Clint can feel the guilt curling in his gut at the thought that Bucky didn’t even like it, smothering the rest of his lingering afterglow and leaving a buzzing panic in its wake. 

He’s supposed to be good at reading people’s emotions and at making sure that they’re alright, but he just keeps fucking up tonight. 

Bucky uses his hand to tilt Clint’s chin up. “Clint, whoa. Stop for a second.”

Clint looks at Bucky’s face even though he’s afraid of what he’ll see. What he does see is softness and a few of Bucky’s nerves creeping back in, the early veneer of confidence peeling at the edges. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Bucky says, looking at Clint intently, like he really wants Clint to listen. “I liked that a lot.”

Clint wants to believe him, but it isn’t adding up in his still fuzzy brain. “Then, why…?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky shrugs sheepishly. “Sometimes it just doesn’t happen for me the first time I hook up with someone. It’s always been like that. Hard to focus on learning what they like and on me at the same time.”

“Oh,” Clint says. He still feels a little guilty, though. It doesn’t feel fair that Bucky put in all that work for nothing. “I just feel bad if you didn’t get anything out of it.”

Bucky squints at him, obviously trying to be a little playful despite Clint’s mood. “Aren’t you supposed to be a psych major? Didn’t they teach you that sex isn’t just about orgasms?”

Clint wonders if Bucky learned that at group as he sticks his tongue out at him. “Point taken.” 

He must still look a little grumpy, though—and maybe he _is_ because he likes feeling like he did a good job, okay?—because Bucky’s face loses some of its playfulness.

“Can we...not make a big thing out of this? You said we could just be us, as is.” Bucky’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “And I’m sorry that I couldn’t, like, get there this time, but it’s not about you or anything. And I think that it’s just the first time thing, but my doctor said that the antidepressants could do this, too, so it might be more of a long term issue.”

Clint hates the hesitancy that he sees creeping in around the edges of Bucky’s expression and, fuck, Bucky’s right. It’s not about Clint, at all.

Clint takes a deep breath and wills away the last of his insecurity as he exhales. He gives Bucky a small smile. “You’re right. Of course it doesn’t have to be a thing. As long as you feel good, that’s what matters.”

“I did feel good.” Bucky kisses his chin. “And, besides, we can try again next time.” 

“Hmm, next time? A little presumptuous there.” Clint winks at Bucky, trying to mirror back his attempts at levity.

Bucky shoves at his shoulder. “Shut up. I hate you.”

Clint grins. “Oh, you hate me, _sweetheart_?”

Bucky’s cheeks flush and Clint thumbs at the warm skin, “Didn’t know if you caught that,” he murmurs.

“Oh, I did,” Clint says, leaning in to lick at Bucky’s lip. He whispers, “Hard as it was with you pulling my brains out through my dick.”

Bucky bursts into laughter and Clint can feel it against his own mouth, which has curved into a smug smile. He likes that he makes Bucky laugh like that.

“You have such a way with words,” Bucky chokes out as he tries to stop laughing. 

Clint steals short pecks in between the remaining giggles until they die down and Bucky is meeting him in softer closed mouth kisses, the kind that aren’t meant to go any further than just this.

His hand runs through Clint’s sweat-dampened hair, smoothing it back, as he gives him one last kiss, before resting his head back on Clint’s pillow. “If I’m going to go, I should probably start heading out.”

The familiar flicker of anxiety creeps up along the walls of Clint’s chest because he doesn’t want Bucky to leave, but Bucky not leaving means Bucky staying over, and Bucky staying over means Clint taking out his ears. He knows Bucky knows this, too, from the seriousness in his gaze.

Clint wars with it in his mind. He knows that Bucky made himself very vulnerable in taking off his prosthesis and Clint wants to afford him that same courtesy. He thinks maybe he _should_ afford him the same, for all that he was worried about fairness just a few minutes ago.

But...he’s just not ready. 

Bucky sits up and reaches down to rub Clint’s shoulder, his mouth pulled up in a small but genuine smile. “It’s okay. I get it.”

“Sorry,” Clint says anyways.

Bucky waves him off. “As is, right?” 

“Soon, okay?” Clint says because he can feel that he is almost to that place with Bucky, even if he isn’t quite there yet. Besides, he really wants to sleep next to Bucky and he can tell he’s not going to be able to resist it much longer, even if that means that he has to go through a little anxiety to get there. 

“No rush. I mean that,” Bucky replies and Clint can tell that he does, that he’ll wait for however long it takes for Clint to be comfortable. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

Bucky stands up and heads off to Clint’s bathroom and Clint hears the cabinet open and shut, and then the water turning on and off. When he comes back in the room, he’s wiping down the end of his right arm with one of Clint’s purple washcloths. He tosses it to Clint when he’s done and Clint uses it to wipe himself off.

Bucky finds his pants and shirt on the ground, tugging the pants up and deftly clasping them with one hand. He pulls the shirt on in a fluid motion, too, using his left hand to help guide his right arm through the sleeve, leaving it pushed up above his elbow. He sits on the edge of the bed and picks up his prosthesis and a small piece of fabric that looks like a large, inside-out sock, before looking back at Clint, the corner of his mouth tilted up.

“Sorry, am I staring too much?” Clint asks. He didn’t mean to, it’s just that he likes the domesticity of this, of getting to see Bucky go through his daily motions. 

“Nah, you’re good,” Bucky says. “I’m going to put my arm back on though, so if that weirds you out…”

Clint’s relieved that he says it like he doesn’t actually think it will, but rather that he is just used to giving the warning. 

“Go ahead,” Clint says.

Bucky takes the fabric piece first and unrolls it so that it’s right side out, and Clint can see that there is a small metal rod at the end of it. Slipping the fabric onto his arm like a glove, Bucky smooths out the edges until they lay flat, the rod protruding from where his arm ends. He then picks up the prosthetic and guides it onto the rod, snapping it into place over the fabric, before pulling his sleeve down to his prosthetic wrist.

He looks over at Clint with a small smile and shrugs his shoulders. “Ta-da.”

Clint wonders, not for the first time, why Bucky wears this prosthesis instead of the bionic one that seems much more functional, but he doesn’t ask. Instead, he moves from where he’s still laying down to prop himself on his arm so that he can reach Bucky’s mouth and gives him a slow kiss. “Thank you.”

Bucky nods at him and Clint can tell that he understands that Clint is thanking him for letting Clint in another vulnerable moment, even when Clint can’t exactly reciprocate.

Bucky leans in for one more kiss before standing up. “Alright, I’m going to head. I’ll lock the door on the way out.”

Clint does an exaggerated swoon as he falls back on the bed, sighing, “My hero.”

Laughing as he makes his way towards the bedroom door, Bucky says, “I just know that if I don’t, there’s only a 30% chance you’ll get up to do it and I don’t want you getting robbed.”

“Nobody’s going to rob me,” Clint grumbles.

Bucky turns his head towards Clint, his hand resting on the doorframe. “See, it’s exactly this attitude that worries me.”

Clint waves him off. “Text me when you get home, okay?”

“Oh, I see how it is,” Bucky says. “No one’s going to rob you, but someone might rob me.”

“Eh, maybe I’m just trying to get that booty call that we discussed.”

Bucky knocks his head against the doorframe gently in mock-exasperation, and Clint can see that he’s biting back a smile. “Such a dork, seriously.” 

Clint just smiles at him. 

“Okay, I’m leaving for real now,” Bucky says, letting go of the doorframe. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Can’t wait,” Clint says, meaning for it to come out in more of a joking tone than it actually does. Oh, well, it’s not like Bucky doesn’t know that Clint’s very into him.

Bucky shoots him one last grin before he leaves. Clint hears him twist the lock and then the main door shuts and his apartment is silent again.

He turns into his pillow, unable to stop the smile that’s taking over his face. Tonight didn’t go exactly how he thought it would, but he not sure he’d want it any differently. He likes how they are together.

He means to get up to turn off the lights and take out his ears, but he’s still tired from coming earlier, and it’s easy to just let himself drift for a little while. A buzz on his bedside table pulls him out of his haze, though, his phone lit up from an incoming text.

 _Home safe._ It says. _No robbers sighted._

It buzzes again in Clint’s hand. _Sweet dreams._.

Clint is about to type out a response, but he pauses when the three little dots appear again and waits for Bucky to be done typing. It takes almost a full minute and at the end of it, only one word comes through. _Sweetheart._

Clint clutches his phone to his chest and grins.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr post.](https://tintedglasses.tumblr.com/post/185316693699/when-it-comes-to-a-lover-by-tintedglasses)


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